


Moving In

by girlintheglen



Series: Illya's Days of April [6]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen





	Moving In

The flight from Kennedy into Heathrow had been ample time for the four agents to solidify their plans.  Illya had spent some time sketching, much to the amazement of the other three.  He was a musician, they all knew that, and his ability to become whatever character a mission demanded spoke of some acting ability that would be the envy of any professional in Hollywood or on Broadway.

 

But designing dresses?  Seated in an area dedicated to drinks and conversation, the Russian had been drawing in earnest for the last couple of hours of the flight and as he closed his sketchbook there was a sense of satisfaction that showed in the subtle hint of a smile.

 

 

“Well, I’ll be ... He’s really doing it.”  Napoleon was still getting used to the idea, still a little bit annoyed that he hadn’t been clued in prior to this mission.  As the American contemplated the plethora of things he probably did not know about his Russian partner, the man was making his way back to the row in which all of the New York contingent were originally seated.  The plane was preparing for its descent, the seatbelt lights were flashing and conversation began to be a mild hum as people began narrating their plans to whoever would listen.

 

They breezed through customs and traveled through the airport to a waiting taxi.  By the time they reached London UNCLE Headquarters, the only ones to enter would be Napoleon and Mark.  Illya and April were already assuming their roles as the trendy couple who were hoping to take London’s fashion community by storm.  They directed the driver to a row of warehouse type buildings where lofts had been transformed into living spaces for the more adventurous types among those in the ‘know’.  The couple would find that their new home was completely furnished, including their wardrobes and the work space that Mr. Waverly had mentioned.

 

It was a first floor space, nearly five thousand square feet and furnished in an eclectic mix of Danish modern and thrift store chic.  Whoever had dreamed up this interior was on the edge of something well beyond the norm, definitely not anything currently being styled in the States.  April took a deep breath when Illya flipped on the lights; the floor plan was completely open and at the end of the space was a lone bed.  There was not a sofa in sight, only an assortment of chairs and benches.

 

Oddly enough, both agents saw the bed at the same time, each of them having scoured the room for another place to sleep.  April wondered if the deep shag area rug would suffice for something soft.

 

“I shall sleep ... perhaps headquarters might supply us with a cot ... or something.”  Illya felt a flush of embarrassment at having actually said that.  He wasn’t a school boy and April was a seasoned agent.  They shouldn’t have any problems fulfilling the entirety of their role as husband and wife.  Well, almost all of it.

 

“No, Illya... hmmm... don’t be silly.  We’ll just share the bed and ... that’s that.’ She turned to him and flashed a megawatt smile.

 

“Darling, we’re home.  Isn’t it fab?”  Illya had to smile in return.  No matter what else might transpire here in London, he had every confidence that he and April would get through this assignment without any ... complications.

 

“Yes, it is decidedly ... fab.”

 

Setting up housekeeping with a person you didn’t actually live with always seemed like such a child’s game to Illya Kuryakin.  His life had been spent living among strangers for so long that situations such as this one left him feeling disingenuous, as though he would most certainly be found out.  He was good at assuming a role, but doing it as he must now, with a woman at his side... this was more Napoleon’s territory.  He only hoped that April would be at ease with it, and judging now by her attempt at enthusiasm, Illya wondered just how comfortable she really was.

 

“April... “  She shook her head. This was at once her dream come true and her worst nightmare.

 

“Illya, please... we can do this.  You and I have had some strange experiences together, and we’re still here, still professionals. Please, just trust me.”  Her plea was sincere, she wanted to prove that she was worthy of the job, that she wasn’t going to give in to every little crush or attraction that crossed her path.

 

“All right, you are entirely correct.”  The blond managed a small smile and proceeded to unpack a few of the things in his carry on bag.

 

“I’m really quite tired, I think I’ll take a shower and then go... that is...” Why was this so hard?

 

“Go to bed?  That sounds like a good idea.  You shower first and I’ll take the second shift.  Just save me some hot water, okay?”  Please, please just make this work was what April was saying to herself.

 

Trust.  Illya thought about that, and as he showered he realized that it wasn’t April he was going to need to trust.  He owed it to April to be trustworthy, and with that thought he turned the handle to let cold water flow over his body.  April would have as much hot water as she wished.

 

The next morning was more a relief than a new start.  Illya had been asleep by the time April got out of the shower and climbed into bed.  She couldn’t help but wonder if this is what married life would be like; would she wake to find her husband padding around in his bare feet, the aroma of coffee and the whistle of a tea kettle her alarm clock?

 

“There you are, I hope this didn’t wake you.”  Illya was quick to retrieve the kettle and pour hot water into his solitary cup.  April relished the memory of her little picture of domesticity, and it was just as she had hoped.

 

“I know you like coffee, so I’ve perked some of that as well.” He left his cup to brew and poured coffee into another, then took a small pan from the stove bubbling with hot milk and added it to April's mug.

 

“A latte, my goodness I could get used to this.”  April was sitting in bed, her knees up to her chest but still under the covers.  Illya thought she looked amazingly put together for having just woke up.  He strode across the room with great purpose, the coffee in one hand and a file folder in the other.

 

“Here you are, and good morning to you.  I thought we could go over this file once more over our morning beverages.”  There was a soothing calm to his voice, and April wondered if Illya ever got loud or shrill.  She’d never actually heard him raise his voice, and the smooth baritone was a resonant contrast to so many people’s nasal, frantic conversations.

 

“Thank you Illya, this is such a treat.  Tell me, should I expect this every morning that we’re married?”  A sly grin came over the blond’s expression and April wondered what he was really thinking.

 

He retrieved his cup from the kitchen area, removing the tea ball and stirring in some jam.  Apparently someone had remembered hearing that Kuryakin liked to add it to his tea; he was grateful they hadn’t left marmalade, that would have been untenable.

 

The two agents settled into the bed with their respective cups, the files and a decent amount of conversation concerning the days ahead.  Illya found himself entirely too comfortable as he reclined against the pillows, and willed himself to not put an arm around April’s shoulders and draw her into a kiss.

 

He just wasn’t sure how long he could resist.

 


End file.
